


Like Father Like Son

by RandomTVJunk



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Choking, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Smoking, i wrote this in a hurry several years ago so it will be a mess, this is probably a romanticized version of roose if i'm being honest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 21:24:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomTVJunk/pseuds/RandomTVJunk
Summary: In the wake of Ramsay's very abrupt departure, Roose finds and begins his own complex relationship with one of Ramsay's prized possessions.





	Like Father Like Son

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for "Throose Week" several years ago. I'm not sure how much longer my tumblr material will even be around, so...

“Close the drapes.”

Theon was too fascinated by the pigeons congregating on the adjacent rooftop to hear him.

Roose left the bed with a resigned anger in his stride, shutting the curtains with enough force to make Theon flinch. 

Both men knew Theon had many reasons to flinch.

Theon pouted in Roose’s general direction. That particular pout always made Roose want to punish him.

“Just wanted some sunlight. So fucking sorry.”

Roose laughed.

“You just wanted the whole of Greater London to see your cock.”

Theon rolled his eyes, but his manhood jumped at the thought.

“Good thing I’ve got plenty to go around.”

Roose took him in hand, Theon’s shuddering breath heavy on his neck as he pulled the foreskin back.

“You certainly do.”

He knew every crank to turn to drive Theon to a fast release, thrusting and bucking wildly against his meaty palm, or to torture him with a slow, deliciously painful orgasm, one that left him begging with salty tears coating his cheeks.

This one was somewhere in between, but he finished with sharp teeth on Theon’s hood, moving away in time to avoid the intense finish. Someday he’d reward Theon by tasting his seed, but that was a long way off; the impatience and whining just made him enjoy the delayed release even more.

Theon jumped off the bed, fumbling through his jean pockets.

“Need a fag…” he muttered. “You got any?”

Roose shook his head disdainfully.

“I don’t smoke.”

Theon smirked.

“Course not. You’re so good and proper. Except for your dirty little secret…”

That damn smirk. It reminded him of Ramsay. Sometimes he wanted to knock it off Theon’s face, before realizing that was probably exactly what Theon wanted. Roose wasn’t going to be his son. He would never be his son. Theon belonged to him, but not as inherited property. In his own way, on his own terms.

He’d always told Ramsay to throw out his broken toys. He couldn’t venture to guess what Ramsay would say to the sight of his father crudely masturbating one of the most prominent of the discard pile. The memory of his son’s razor-precise rage made him hope he never found out.

Ramsay had always been both disciplined and reckless; an ideal weapon in Roose’s arsenal. People tut-tutted about such tactics in the business world, to which Roose had little to say beyond a cold sneer. CEOs and shareholders had pioneered kidnapping and murder when Bolton Industries was still just a small operation in his great-grandfather’s rat-infested flat.

Unfortunately, Ramsay had gone a little too far with Joffrey Baratheon, a very public fight between them during a hunting trip ending in Joffrey being found a few days later, floating in the river in pieces, smirk finally removed from his face.

Roose had gotten Ramsay on a freighter to a safe country which feared the Bolton name far too much to ever betray their trust, but not before Ramsay had given him an address for a cheap flat. 

Inside he’d found Theon, staring at a full ashtray, sitting in a beat up old leather chair, sat as if he wanted to crawl inside himself, his head resting against his knees. 

He’d jumped when Roose had asked his name, when he’d seen the handle of the small but brutally efficient dagger gleaming in the moonlight through the slats in the boarded up window.

_“Where’s Ramsay?” he whispered, terrified, as if he’d betrayed a trust by even talking to Roose._

_“He’s…gone.”_

_The first time Roose truly realized Ramsay was gone, that everything had changed forever._

_“I’m here now.”_

_Theon put his hands to his face, the bruises and rope burns painting his wrists various colors of consent._

_“Did he leave me? What did I do wrong? Are you going to kill me? Please, sir. Please. Please don’t…”_

_He was such a mess that something inside Roose couldn’t kill him, even though that was the most logical plan; the only plan._

_He put Theon to bed, carrying him over the threshold, humming a dark version of the wedding march as he stretched Theon out on the dirty mattress, watched him for a while, studied him, and made sure he could be on his own._

_Theon slept for about 15 hours._

_Roose stopped by the next day with food - real food - and clothes._

_“Why do you care?” Theon snapped, hair in five different directions after his long shower, a man ashamed of charity, defensive at this new presence in his already controlled life._

_The petulance brought a stirring in Roose’s groin. He could see why Ramsay had wanted to break this man._

_“Don’t ask questions,” he said, coolly._

_Before Theon could say any more, Roose kissed him, dominating and assured until the first whimper from the younger man, then frantic, frantic in a way he hadn’t been since he was a boy._

_He traced a map with his tongue of all the bruises and scars Ramsay had left behind, nipped at them to see which were most sensitive to Theon, which would most keep him in line at the merest brush of fingertips._

_He got so carried away that he barely remembered to fuck Theon with a condom. Theon slowly putting the rubber on his thick cock, looking up at him with such fear and awe as his hands trembled, nearly made him come on sight alone._

_Later that night, after they’d pretty much fucked in every dingy room, Roose ordered him to gather up his possessions._

_“You’re moving.”_

_Theon panicked._

_“W-Wa…I don’t want to go…”_

_Roose wondered if he expected Ramsay to return, if he didn’t want to leave for fear of disappointing or angering the younger Bolton._

_“I’ll let you make the choice. Come with me now, and never mention my son or your involvement with my son to anyone, or wait until he returns - if he returns - and see how long it takes before he learns you opened your legs to his father.”_

_Theon took what seemed like an eternity to answer, reminding Roose one last time of the fear and longing his son evoked in those who were lucky or unlucky enough to know him intimately. This was the first time he’d ever envied his son for that ability._

_“Fine. I’ll do it. Are you happy?”_

_Roose grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against the wall._

_“I expect gratitude.”_

_Theon whimpered, so different from his earlier cry, but equally arousing to Roose. Theon’s revived erection strained against his skintight jeans as the hand pressed harder._

_Roose fucked him again, one last time, on the dirty floor, before they left the hovel behind for good._

Now he kept Theon in a nice place, all the best furnishings and perks, but, deep down, he knew this place was really for him. He was very happy with Walda, and with the face he presented to the world, a world so terrified of him. Yet he needed more. Theon tested him, at times enraged him, but Theon was his and his alone. Theon was afraid of him, but in a way that understood him, was fully molded and suited to him.

When he spent the night, sometimes he listened for the names Theon occasionally muttered in his sleep, twisting and turning as if even saying the words caused him pain. Some he didn’t know (Asha, Robb). One he knew all too well (Ramsay). When he heard his own, he waited for Theon to wake up, to see him, and be relieved. He wasn’t a sentimental man, but against his better judgment, it made him feel good that Theon knew he would never leave him.

“Sure you don’t want one?”

The words, and the strong smell of cigarette smoke, brought him back to reality.

Theon looked so ridiculously attractive when he smoked…Roose was tempted to use him in an ad campaign.

“I haven’t smoked anything since university. I’m sure I’ve already had my fill today as it is.”

Theon blew a smoke ring as an apology, putting the cigarette out before trying to climb into Roose’s lap.

“Not until you use mouthwash,” Roose ordered, reluctantly avoiding Theon’s lush lips.

Theon began to move away, a mixture of vulnerability and satisfaction, of knowing the rules and trying to test them.

Impulsively, Roose leaned over to kiss Theon’s forehead.

“Will I ever corrupt you?” Theon asked, half-mockingly.

In spite of himself, Roose smiled.

“I was corrupted a long time ago.”


End file.
